Before The Ring
by LadyDoroAnne
Summary: Everyone has a family, and everyone has friends. What was Smeagol like before the ring, and who did he leave behind to suffer when he was banished? Terrible summary, good story. Please read!
1. Chapter 1: Black and Blue

_I should be updating my other story, The Fellowship's Bliss, but I seem to have struck a brick wall there. Here is a random tangent that just came up in my mind. There just aren't enough Sméagol stories out there, in my opinion. Please review and let me know if I need to continue. _

Chapter One:

Sméagol ducked under a bush, persued. He clutched his treasure to his chest, hoping not to get caught. He hated running; he hated hiding.

He looked around. The coast seemed clear, he decided. He'd be fine, wouldn't he?

He peeked out from behind the bush, and was greeted by a stealthy smack to the head.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, looking up at the triumphant face of Belladore, who was wielding a very dangerous-looking soup ladle.

"Confound it all, Belladore Brindle!" he near-yelled, rubbing the spot on the top of his head where she'd hit him.

"You idiot, quit rubbing your head. You're getting blueberries in your hair." she crossed her arms and smirked at him.

When he'd hid under the bush, he'd managed to smash the pie, without thinking. There was blueberry juice and bits of crust all over his shirt and hands.

"I wouldn't have to rub my head if you hadn't hit me." he threw back.

"Well, if you hadn't tried to run off with my blueberry pie---"

"I couldn't help it, Belladore. It was calling to me." he said, and smugly began to lick his fingers. "I love your cooking. And anyway, who leaves pies on windowsills? That's asking for it."

"Maybe you need to learn a thing or two about self-control. Then again, I suppose I could have let it cool in a more unreachable place." she said, and offered a hand to him.

He took it, and stood up.

"Why was the pie so important, anyway, Belly? Who was it for?"

"For nobody." she replied stubbornly. "Mind your own business, Sméagol."

She suspiciously peered around the bush, wielding her ladle.

Sméagol laughed a little. Belladore was so silly.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for Deagol." she said, bending back branches. "You're in trouble. He's bound to be around here somewhere."

"No, he's left me to terrorize the village all by myself today." Sméagol said, trying to sound as if he didn't care.

"Some cousin." Belladore remarked, taking out her handkerchief and trying to clean Sméagol up.

"It isn't like that. He loves Lena, is all. Can you blame him for wanting to spend time with her? Even I have to admit that her company is infinitely better than mine, what with her feminine assets." he grinned suggestively.

"Want me to throttle you again?" Belladore asked seriously, and Sméagol dropped it.

"You never answered my question, Belly." he said, loosing some of his easy cheer. "Who was the pie for?"

She blushed, turning red all the way to her hairline.

"Ah. So it was for Mirlon." he said, shaking his head. "The guy has no idea how lucky he is."

"Sméagol, stop." she turned even more red.

"How do you know that he even likes blueberries?" Sméagol asked.

"I happen to know that blueberries are his favorite." she said, indignant, and gave up on trying to clean him up. Yet another one of his shirts was ruined.

"Your mother is going to be furious." she said.

"Don't try and change the subject."

"Sméagol, I don't want to talk about this.""You shouldn't like him, you know." he said.

"And why not?" she asked.

He glanced at her ladle, and decided that she might not hit him if he kept talking.

"Because he's not good enough for you, that's why not."

She rolled her eyes.

"And just who is it around here that's good enough to win Sméagol's approval?" she asked sarcastically.

"I--" he sighed. "I don't know. But not Mirlon. He's just creepy."

"Sméagol!" she scolded.

"Well, it's true. He's all pale, and he's too skinny. And there's just something downright eerie about his eyes."

"I suppose his eyes are a little odd." Belladore frowned.

"A _little_ odd?" Sméagol huffed. "He looks like a fish…or a frog."

"That's enough." Belladore said, but couldn't help a small smile. Her mother had said all the very same things to her this morning.

"Why do you care so much, anyway? About who I go courting with?"

Sméagol froze. He hadn't been expecting that.

"That isn't fair, Belladore. I'm the one who asks the questions around here." he said with a smirk.

She stuck out her tongue at him, and they both laughed.

"Come on, Smeag." she said. "I have another pie at home."

"Blueberry?" he asked.

"Blackberry." she replied with a smile.

Sméagol smiled back. Blackberry was his favorite, and Belladore knew it.

_Please review! Should I continue?_


	2. Chapter 2: Poppies

_Sorry it's been a while! Here's some more!_

Chapter Two:

"Belladore Brindle? That's who's got you walking on air? _Belladore Brindle_?" Deagol asked with a bit of disgust, his feet propped up on the table. He carefully peeled an apple with his pocket knife, managing to scowl at Sméagol while doing so.

"Shh, Deagol, not so loud!" Sméagol looked around, as if anybody could be around, listening.

The last thing he wanted was for Belladore to know that he had feelings for her. It would… well, he didn't know what would happen, but it would be embarrassing, at the very least.

"Why are you telling me, if you don't want anybody to know?" Deagol asked.

"Because, I need your help." Sméagol said.

"Okay, I must admit that I'm intrigued. What did you have in mind?" Deagol smiled mischievously.

"Well, do you remember when you wanted to court Lena and Hammy Cledd was courting her, too?"

"Yeah. You helped me push him into the mud in front of her. There's no better way to kill a romance like public humiliation." Deagol smiled at the memory.

"Right. And Mirlon has been sweet on Belly for years. And, like it or not, she's liked him, as well."

"So what'll we serve old frog face, hmm? Shall we dye his hair green, or shove him into pigsty?"

"As satisfying as both of those things would be, Deagol, I don't want to. That's not how to win Belladore."

"So what are you proposing?"

"We just have to prove to her that I'm the better hobbit." Sméagol rolled his eyes at how dense Deagol could be sometimes.

"How are you gonna do that, Smeag?" Deagol said, stifling laughter.

"Well, the Harvest Festival is in two days. I'm going to take Belladore-"

"You asked her?"

"Well, no. She doesn't know that I'll be escorting her. Not yet, anyway. Mirlon asked her yesterday."

Deagol scoffed, finishing off his apple. He threw his core into the compost basket, and wiped his hands on his pants.

"Mirlon! What a nance!"

"Be nice, Deagol." Sméagol said.

Deagol rolled his eyes.

"Since when do you stick up for Mirlon Fishface?"Sméagol smiled, mischief glinting in his eyes.

"Since I became the better man…er, hobbit. Let's go, Deag. It's time to go show Belladore just how wonderful I am."

~Break~

Sméagol crouched behind the bushes, watching Belladore. She was reading a book, leaning comfortably against the rough side of an oak tree. It was her favorite tree, in fact, where she often went to doze or get lost in a good story.

Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and a few of her dark tendrils fell haphazardly around her face. There were a few freckles sprinkled atop her nose and cheekbones; the rest of her skin was lily-white, and contrasting with her dark hair and bright blue eyes.

She was so deeply absorbed in her reading, that she didn't notice that Sméagol was watching her.

She didn't even notice when he very sneakily sat next to her.

"You know the curious thing about poppies?" he asked her, and she jumped, startled.

"What?" she asked.

"Poppies. Did you know that they can put you to sleep?"

Belladore rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Sméagol. Everyone knows that."

He handed her a bright red poppy, which he'd been hiding in his sleeve.

"What? You want me to take a nap?" Belladore said, crinkling her nose at him.

"No. I just thought it was pretty. What are you reading?"

"Don't you have someone else to pester?" Belladore asked him, half-joking, half-serious.

"Nope. Just you, Belly." Sméagol replied, never one to get discouraged quickly.

"Lucky me." she said sardonically.

"Bookworm." Sméagol teased, and took the book out of her hands, careful to not lose her place. He read the cover aloud:

" '_The Legend of Isildur and the One Ring.' _Boring."

He yawned theatrically, and handed it back to her.

"It's a very good book. Marm Adda let me borrow it."

"Ugh, Marm Adda! Last week, she thrashed Deagol and me with a peach switch!"

Sméagol winced at the memory. Adda was the toughest schoolmarm to ever come to Riverton (At least, in Sméagol's opinion.)

"Well," Belladore said, through poorly contained giggles, "I can't say much besides that you both deserved it."

"It was just firecrackers, Belly, and nobody got hurt, anyway!" Sméagol protested.

"Whatever you say, Sméagol." she rolled her eyes again, and went back to reading her book.

He reached up, and gently placed the poppy into her hair.

"There. Now you won't lose it." he smiled, and before she could even reply, he'd ducked back into the bushes, disappearing as suddenly as he'd come.

_Okay, so writing this makes me sympathize with Sméagol/Gollum more than usual. Please review and tell me what you think! I'll update more quickly this time! (And yes, this is actually going somewhere.) _


	3. Chapter 3: Golden Opportunity

_So sorry it's taken me so long! I have been mind-numbingly busy! (As well as focused on More Crazy Things, my other story.) Note: Deagol's song is a real song from the Middle Ages that I looked up. Of course, I added the parts about the Valar, but the rest is authentic. Enjoy!_

Chapter 3:

Deagol leaned against the tree, his pip stuck in his mouth, singing as loudly as possible.

He was keeping an eye out on the road, looking for Mirlon.

The Harvest Festival was only in two days, after all, and he'd promised that he'd help Sméagol.

_It's the least I can do. _Deagol thought. _Leaving him all the time to be with Lena. Smeag needs a girl of his own. Then, he won't be so cross with me. _

A brown leaf fell down and landed on his shoulder, and he brushed it off, idly.

He was bored, waiting on Mirlon to come around, and soon his eyes focused on the ruts and potholes that had been cut into the hard packed dirt of the roads leading away from their village.

Mirlon went every Thursday to Riverside, the village next to theirs, to help the librarian, Old Gerta, with her books.

What a nance. Deagol thought contemptuously, when he heard the pad of Mirlon's chubby feet coming over the hill, onto his section of the road.

He raised to volume of his singing.

"_The mirth if all this land maketh the good husband! With use of his plow, we are blessed be! Good Valar has sent their mirth and joy now!"_

Mirlon looked over, curiously, peering over his spectacles at Deagol, who grinned and kept singing, the pipe in his mouth slurring his words a little.

"_Ah, the plow has opened many a gate, both early and late! Barley and wheat, gourds and melons sweet; these maketh mortals sweat! Valar love the plow all day!" _

Mirlon walked closer, his leather bag tossed over one shoulder, his plaid scarf tied tightly around his neck.

"Hail, Mirlon!" Deagol greeted him with a grin. "Excellent day for a song, eh? _Oh, there was a maiden fair with hair of gold! She liked sweet ale and tales of old! Her husband made o' the mire and earth, O, dear farmer's wife spreads mirth!"_

"Good-morning, Deagol." Mirlon greeted, stiffly. His mother warned him about getting involved with rough boys in the village; particularly Sméagol and Deagol.

"Won't you join me in a tune?" Deagol asked, belting out, "_Brown, morel, and sore! Draweth the plow full score! All in the morning! All in the morning! Reward us therefore, with a sheath or more! All in the evening! Cold ale in the evening_!"

Mirlon scowled.

"What do you want from me?"

"I hear you go to Riverside on Thursdays. I have business with the candle-maker."

"The candle maker?"

"Aye. The candle-maker."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Do about it? Well, I thought we could go together. Bandits are less likely to attack the two of us, right?"

Nervous beads of sweat broke out on Mirlon's forehead.

Bandits? He was afraid of bandits.

Maybe it was a good idea to go with Deagol, after all.

"Alright, Deagol. But no funny business." Mirlon said.

"None intended." Deagol affirmed, and the two started walking toward Riverside.

Part One of The Plan was in motion, and it took much effort on Deagol's part to keep from smirking.

"So, what are you going to do about Lucretia Tull?" Deagol asked, casually.

"What do you mean?" Mirlon asked, genuinely confused.

"You mean you haven't heard? The whole village is buzzing about it!"

"What?"

"She's madly in love you, Mirlon. Haven't you noticed?"

Mirlon looked shocked, his eyes even more fishlike than usual.

"No! I think you're lying, Deagol." Mirlon said, with so little inflection in his voice that Deagol briefly wondered if Mirlon had a soul or not.

"I'm not lying."

"Oh, really? I saw her just yesterday and she didn't even speak to me."

"Well, haven't you ever heard of playing hard to get? That's what she's doing. But your head has been so high up in the clouds…"

"You really think that Lucretia Tull is in love with me?" Mirlon asked, his resolve melting a little.

Lucretia Tull was by far the prettiest girl in Riverton, and on top of that, her father was the mayor! To almost anyone, Lucretia was unattainable.

If Mirlon had a chance with Lucretia Tull, there was no way that he'd let it go.

"Of course I know it. Lucretia told Goldenrod, who told Lily, who told my Aunt Marigold, who told my sister, who told Lena, who told me. It's all very legit." Deagol said.

"Hmmm. I suppose it's true. I did see her eyeing me a few times at the May Day Picnic."

"See? What'd I tell you?" Deagol asked, trying not to snicker. Their plan was working perfectly.

"If only I hadn't asked Belladore to the Harvest Festival, I could ask Lucretia!" Mirlon lamented aloud.

"Well, maybe you could get someone else to ask her. That way, you can go with Lucretia and not have to feel guilty about giving Belladore the slip."

Mirlon smiled. Maybe Deagol wasn't so bad, after all.

"Who could we get to take her on such short notice? And anyway, won't she be crushed?"

Deagol sighed theatrically.

"I can't say. Probably. You are quite a catch, Mirlon. But she'll get over it, with time."

Mirlon nodded, thinking of Lucretia's blonde curls and her father's money.

"Yes. I'm sure she'll be fine." He said. "But who would take her?"

"Perhaps your cousin Horace?" Deagol suggested.

"That won't do at all. He's taking Chrysanthemum Flockbuckle." Mirlon shook his head.

"Marley Leadfinger?" Deagol asked.

"No. He's going with my sister."

"Pity. What about Nildegren Locket?"

"No, no, no! He's taking your cousin Isabeth."

"Hmm. Hey, what about my cousin Sméagol? He doesn't have a date. Matter of fact, he's probably the only hobbit in Riverton without a date."

"Do you think he'll do it?" Mirlon asked, desperate by now.

"I don't know. He's more of a loner. But if you asked nicely, I'm sure he'd take her off your hands for you."

"I hope so, Deagol! Lucretia Tull, can you believe it?"

"Oh, please, Mirlon, off course I can believe it. A smart hobbit like you?" he scoffed. "All the girls want you."

"That _is_ true." Mirlon said, and Deagol felt ill.

_What a nance._ He thought again.

"Just one thing. Talk to Sméagol before you speak with Lucretia. It wouldn't do for you to still have a date when you go talk to her, would it?"

"I suppose not." Mirlon said, frowning. Poor Belladore! He felt like such a cad!

_Well, _Deagol thought, not able to stop his smile. _That was easy._

~Break~

Belladore could not believe it. Mirlon had canceled on her one day before the festival? Who did he think he was, anyway?

She looked over at her dress, which she had been embroidering just for the occasion.

It was a lovely piece; a russet-colored party dress with intricate golden leaves embroidered around the neck and sleeves.

She had sewn silky brown ribbons around the bottom hem and along the waistline, and her mother had knitted a pair of cream-colored stockings darned with gold thread along the edges.

"The perfect dress for autumn." Her mother had declared, clasping her hands together with pride in her daughter's looks and skill with a needle.

It was all for no reason, now. Who cared if she looked pretty?

Who cared if she were the prettiest girl in all of Riverton, if she had no one to go to the festival with?

She folded the dress and put it into her chest-of-drawers; she wouldn't be needing it, now.

What had possessed Mirlon to break their date? Had it been something she'd said?

She laid down onto her bed, her hair splaying behind her, tears creeping behind her eyelids and stinging, but she blinked them away. There was no use crying, after all.

There was a knock at the front door, but she ignored it when she heard the trod of her mother's feet, and she knew that she was answering it.

She stared up at the ceiling, hurt and bored and tired, her eyes tracing every flaw and water spot that resided above her bedroom.

A few minutes later, there was a soft rap at her door.

"Who is it?" she asked, expecting one of her parents.

"It's me." a familiar voice said.

"Sméagol?" she asked, and got up and opened the door.

There was Sméagol, dressed in his Sunday clothes, a sunflower in his left hand, and he presented it to her.

"I heard that you're free tomorrow. I'm sorry, Belly."

"Oh, Sméagol, don't start with me. I know that you hate Mirlon."

"Hate is a very strong word, Belly." he said, gently, and she scoffed.

"What did you come for, anyway?" she asked, sniffing the sunflower.

How could a flower smell so different from the others? There was certainly nothing floral about the smell, but rather an earthy, sweet smell, almost like newly dried straw.

She laid it on top of her bedside table.

"Well, seeing as how the Harvest Festival is the best day of the year, other than Yule, of course, I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"

"What?" Belladore asked.

"You know…you're not going with anyone, I'm not going with anyone…what do you think?"

"I think…" Belladore said, biting her lip, pondering. "I think that you're very sweet, Sméagol."

"So…" he said, nervously. "Is that a yes?"

Belladore nodded.

"I suppose so." she said. "We would have ended up spending time together, anyway, after all."

"Great! I'll pick you up at eleven?"

"The festival doesn't begin until noon!"

"Yes. But the fun begins at eleven." Sméagol grinned, and, feeling bold, kissed her hand.

"Until tomorrow, lady."

"See ya later, Sméagol." Belladore rolled her eyes as he bowed, smirking, and with a mocking lilt to his posture as he made his exit.

Belladore sat back down on her bed, befuddled.

_At least I have a date tomorrow. _She thought. _And there are worse dates than Sméagol. _

She slid under her quilt, running her lithe fingers over the taut stitching, comforted by the warmth and familiarity of the old blanket.

_What was wrong with Sméagol in the first place? _She wondered.

_He isn't a bad fellow, and he's not bad-looking, either. We get along very well; nothing is awkward between us, and he makes me laugh. _

Her mind began to drift, and though she hadn't intended to, she began comparing Sméagol and Mirlon.

Sméagol spoke to her, teased her, made her laugh. She couldn't recall one time that Mirlon had made her laugh, or even tried to make a joke.

Sméagol, though infuriating at times, was a gentleman underneath. Hadn't he given up his jacket to her last winter when she'd forgotten her own?

And shared his lunch with her at school when ants had invaded her lunch pail?

When had Mirlon ever done anything for her?

Where were his flowers, his sweet teasing, his lilting smile?

_Come to think of it_, Belladore surmised, _Have I ever seen Mirlon smile? _

She realized that she hadn't.

There was a knock at the door, and her mother came in.

Belladore thought that she looked lovely, even though she was wearing her apron, and her hair had little touches of grey at her temples.

"What did Sméagol want, darling?" she asked, smoothing the hair on Belladore's forehead.

"He wanted to take me to the Harvest Festival." she said, blushing, though she wasn't quite sure why.

Her mother smiled, warmly, and knowingly; she went over to the drawers, her soft eyes crinkled at the edges, love evident in every movement.

Belladore wanted to be a lady like her mother one day.

She pulled out Belladore's dress and smoothed the wrinkles out with her work-worn hand, and laid it at the foot of the bed, on Belladore's hope chest.

"No sense in having to iron this tomorrow, right dear?"

"I suppose not." Belladore said. "I'd better get some sleep, Mother. Tomorrow is a long day."

"Of course." her mother said, kissing her daughter's cheek and snuffing out the candle.

"Good-night, Belladore."

"Good-night, Mother."

_Okay, sorry for the wait! I promise that I won't take so long for the next update! What was your favorite part of this chapter? Mine was coming up with all the 'pre-historic' hobbit names. ;) Review, please! _


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